<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Every Day Patches the Night Up by justtoarguewithyou</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230609">Every Day Patches the Night Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justtoarguewithyou/pseuds/justtoarguewithyou'>justtoarguewithyou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You Showed Me Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Muggle, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Tumblr Prompt, wolfstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:13:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justtoarguewithyou/pseuds/justtoarguewithyou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus meets Sirius as they take a walk of shame.<br/>Tumblr prompt: “We met each other on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame” AU<br/>Title Shamelessly Borrowed from Frank Ocean's "Nights"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You Showed Me Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Every Day Patches the Night Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Remus Lupin hadn’t done a walk of shame since he was 25 and in graduate school. He’d almost forgotten how foolish he could feel. But here he is at 7:30 in the morning with a splitting headache, a phone number in his pocket that he will most certainly never call, and the sneaking suspicion that he’d not enjoyed himself very much after all.</p><p>He’d hoped to avoid anyone he knew by walking home at this hour. His friends usually didn’t stir before 10 a.m.</p><p>He just wants a shower. He pushes the elevator button. The door opens.</p><p>Someone else is already in the car. Someone else with their hair disheveled, and a furtive look in their eyes. Remus might have done the polite thing, and taken the next car, but all of a sudden, he wants a cigarette, a very large coffee, some eggs.</p><p>He gives the other passenger a sly smile, and they spend the descent in silence, avoiding looking one another in the eye.</p><p>When the door dings, Remus motions for the other passenger to exit first. He feels his pockets—he has a lighter, but no cigarettes. He doesn’t smoke often. He’d quit after graduation, telling himself coffee was enough of a vice. But every once and a while he succumbs. Not unlike the night before…</p><p>The stranger—with wavy black hair up in a bun, undercut on the sides, and lovely gray, almond shaped eyes—turns and asks if Remus had a light.</p><p>“Sure, if I can bum a smoke,” he responds. The stranger gives him a cigarette, and Remus clicks open his grandfather’s silver lighter. The stranger lights their cigarette quickly, and takes a long drag.</p><p>Remus lit his own cigarette, and the stranger exhales.</p><p>“Every time I tell myself this is the last time,” the stranger says.</p><p>“I know exactly what you mean.”</p><p>They walk together down the block maybe more slowly than they otherwise might. Neither of them speaks. They finish their cigarettes, and Remus disposes of his butt in the receptacle on the corner. The stranger watches him.</p><p>In a way, Remus feels reassured that he isn’t the only one going out and making ‘mistakes.’</p><p>Remus tentatively says, “I’m going this way.”</p><p>The stranger smiles. “Have a good rest of the day.”</p><p>“Yeah. I think I’m off to find breakfast and then take a very long nap.”</p><p>The stranger nods. They just smile at each other for a beat too long. Remus lets out a sort of chuckle. “See ya.”</p><p>Remus takes about three steps before the stranger says, “Hey.”</p><p>Remus turns around, and the stranger says, “This is silly, but would you want to eat breakfast with me? I’m hungry, too, and I’d feel better if I didn’t eat alone this morning.”</p><p>“This is as good as any reason to make friends,” Remus says with a smile. “Did you drive?”</p><p>“Sort of. My motorcycle is over there. Is that ok?”</p><p>“Sure.” Remus hasn’t been on the back of a bike for one year, ten days and 13 hours. But he doesn’t think he’s forgotten how to ride.</p><p>The stranger hands him a helmet, and they climb onto the bike. The air feels good as they drive. Remus feels his head clearing, and holds on with one arm. It’s easier than he remembers. He closes his eyes against the wind, and they soon reach their destination: a greasy spoon, open 24 hours in an unfashionable neighborhood that serves very good coffee and excellent pancakes.</p><p>Remus smiles. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday morning.</p><p>They park on the street, and dismount, and walk to the door. The stranger holds the door open for Remus.</p><p>Remus looks down and laughs a little as he passes.</p><p>The waitress seats them in a booth in the corner. She pours them a glass of water, and takes their order for coffee and hands them a couple of menus, and goes off.</p><p>Remus looks up at his breakfast companion and cracks up laughing. Thankfully, his companion laughs, too. They laugh for maybe longer than is sane at 7:52 in the morning. The waitress comes back with coffee, a bowl full of creamers and asks if they need a minute.</p><p>“You know what you want?” the Stranger asks. Remus begins to capitalize the “s” and thinks of him as a comic book character, a minor deity, or a tarot card icon.</p><p>For a split second, Remus thinks about gray eyes. “Yeah.” He looks up at the waitress. “Can I get scrambled eggs, bacon and a short stack?”</p><p>“And for you?” the waitress asks.</p><p>“I’ll have the same.”</p><p>They doctor their coffee, fingers brushing in the bowl of creamers. Remus takes a sip and closes his eyes, holding onto the coffee mug with both hands. When he opens his eyes, the Stranger is smiling a mysterious smile, half to himself.</p><p>“How are you this morning?”</p><p>Remus deliberately decides not to ask his name, and to just answer the question. “I was feeling foolish. But now I feel better.”</p><p>“Me, too.”</p><p>Remus just nods.</p><p>“Do you go out often?”</p><p>“No, not often. This was my second time in three months. I’m usually the DD, but not last night.”</p><p>“I’m always the designated driver,” the Stranger says. “But I wasn’t on duty last night.”</p><p>Remus just nods. He wonders so many things, but decides he won’t ask. “It was my friend Peter’s bachelor party. I couldn’t handle another straight strip club, so I…wandered away.”</p><p>“I may or may not have hooked up with an ex.”</p><p>Remus raises his eyebrows, and shrugs.</p><p>“It was a terrible idea,” the Stranger says candidly.</p><p>“Well. We’re all entitled to act on our terrible impulses.”</p><p>“But this wasn’t. Inviting you to breakfast, I mean.”</p><p>“No, this is actually very nice.”</p><p>The waitress comes back with their food. They eat in silence for a few seconds. The Stranger luxuriates in a huge bite of his pancakes.</p><p>“I’m starving,” he says. “I didn’t eat dinner.”</p><p>“In that big of a hurry?” Remus gives the sly smile again.</p><p>The Stranger turns red. “No. Nothing like that. I got caught up, flittering about with friends, and then I got the ‘You up?’ text at 1:00.”</p><p>Flittering. Remus likes that. It makes Remus think of butterflies, which makes him think about a poem he’d found and read to himself over and over the week before.</p><p>“He flew,” Remus quotes softly. “In his dance about manner.”</p><p>The Stranger looks at him quizzically.</p><p>“You said flittering. It made me think about butterflies. But the poem is sad. Or maybe it isn’t. I haven’t decided yet. Anyway...”</p><p>“No,” the Stranger says, “Tell me about the poem.”</p><p>And Remus starts to tell him about of “a butterfly in el barrio or a stranger in paradise” by Jesus Papoleto Melendez.</p><p>“It’d be better if I just read it to you.”</p><p>“So, read it to me.”</p><p>“Maybe after breakfast. My eggs will get cold.”</p><p>“Okay,” the Stranger says with a smile. “I won’t forget.”</p><p>Now Remus smiles. They eat their breakfast, and talk more about poetry, and how Remus loves to read all manner of things. Poems are handy when he wants to read a little, and think a lot. He reads novels of all sorts, non-fiction, and sometimes even articles written for academic journals.</p><p>The Stranger prefers to spend his time sketching and listening to music.</p><p>“Sometimes I spent all day in a museum, just making a study of something.”</p><p>“Will you do that today?” Remus asks.</p><p>“I think I’m just going to play this day by ear.”</p><p>When they’re done, the waitress clears their plates and they stay to drink yet another cup of coffee. The waitress drops the check, and the Stranger picks it up.</p><p>“I invited you.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Remus says.</p><p>They walk out, and stand in the parking lot for a minute. Unsure.</p><p>“You still owe me a poem.”</p><p>“Want to take a walk?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’d be nice. Do you live around here?” the Stranger asks.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I used to,” the Stranger says.</p><p>And Remus realizes it was that kind of ex. “How long were you in the neighborhood?” he asks, obliquely.</p><p>The Stranger sighs. “A year.”</p><p>“How long since you moved away?”</p><p>“Six months.”</p><p>“And how long since you’d been back?”</p><p>“I hadn’t.”</p><p>They walk a little while.</p><p>“And you? When’s the last time you visited the neighborhood?”</p><p>“First time. Don’t think I’ll come again.”</p><p>The Stranger nods.</p><p>Their path takes them by a farmer’s market. They walk through it.</p><p>“Sirius!” a woman calls.</p><p>“Amelia!” the Stranger says, his face lighting up.</p><p>“Oh, Sirius, I haven’t seen you in months,” the elderly woman says. She has soft white hair, and her face is crinkled up into a real grin. She is selling tea and herbal tinctures, balms and salves.</p><p>“I know. I’m sorry. I keep meaning to come see you.”</p><p>“And who is this?”</p><p>The Stranger, Sirius, flushes a little.</p><p>“I’m Remus,” Remus says quickly, and the woman takes Remus’s proffered hand into both of her own.</p><p>“Oh, you look very sweet. Your auras are very beautiful, and complimentary right now. I’m sure you’ll be very sweet to Sirius here,” she says, patting Sirius’ hand.</p><p>Sirius just turns pinker, and Remus laughs.</p><p>“We just met,” Remus says. “But I do have a very sweet disposition.”</p><p>“Yes, and fierce and loyal. And brave. That’s why you’re here,” Amelia says with a firm nod. She Knows.</p><p>Remus just smiles. And Sirius turns his attentions to Amelia. “Do you have any lavender hand salve? I also want some of your teas. I ran out a few months ago. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come visit.”</p><p>“You’re here now,” Amelia says, and gives Sirius a squeeze.</p><p>Sirius shops for a few minutes, and Remus watches them together. Sirius, and not a stranger.</p><p>Sirius pays, gives the woman another hug, and they leave.</p><p>A few stalls away, Sirius stops dead, and Remus walks a few steps, and turns around.</p><p>“Remus,” Sirius says.</p><p>“Yeah…Sirius,” Remus says. “Wow.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing, I just…your name makes me think of poetry.”</p><p>“Another maybe sad poem?” Sirius asks tentatively.</p><p>“Some poems are sad.”</p><p>“But not all of them.”</p><p>“No, not all of them.”</p><p>“What poem?”</p><p>Remus laughs. “At this rate, I’m going to spend the day reciting nothing but poetry to you.”</p><p>Sirius shrugs. “What else do you have to do?”</p><p>“Nothing.” Remus says, and reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He turns it off, and puts it in his pocket. “Nothing at all.”</p><p>Sirius smiles. They walk through the farmer’s market, and Sirius finds a vendor who is selling fruit cups, and elote, and homemade tamales. Sirius buys two large bottles of water, an extra-large fruit cup, and an aguas frescas de melon. He speaks to the man in Spanish, and they smile a lot at each other. Remus watches; Sirius is very friendly. There’s nothing wrong with making friends, Remus thinks.</p><p>“I got us provisions, so we can sit and talk a long while. I’ll let you sit on my jacket. You’re wearing nicer clothes than I am.”</p><p>And they walk down another couple of blocks, the birds are singing, and the sun is hiding behind the clouds, and there is a pocket park, just a little square with grass and some flowers, and some nice shady trees.</p><p>Sirius puts his leather jacket on the ground for Remus. Sirius is wearing the kind of thing that you put on to take off at 1 in the morning—black knit dropped crotch pants and a tight white t-shirt. His motorcycle boots are worn, and Remus notices a charm hanging from Sirius’s laces, but he can’t tell what it is.</p><p>Remus, who is wearing jeans, and a low v-necked heather gray t-shirt under a shawl-collared navy cardigan, sits.</p><p>“Before you recite poetry, I have to ask you three things.”</p><p>“Ok,” Remus says, opening a water bottle, and taking a swig.</p><p>“How do you feel about David Bowie?”</p><p>“He is an omnipresent force in my life.”</p><p>“And what about The Stooges?”</p><p>“I have a very real and tender love for Iggy Pop.”</p><p>“And do you prefer The Smiths, or Morrissey solo?”</p><p>“Hm. The Smiths. Morrissey on his own can be very hit or miss. Johnny Marr and Morrissey together is…something else.”</p><p>“Ok.”</p><p>“Ok?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“That’s it?”</p><p>“For now. Tell me the star poem first,” Sirius demands.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“No?” Sirius seems a little indignant. “But I bought you a fruit cup.”</p><p>“And breakfast,” Remus says. He eats a piece of cantaloupe from the cup.</p><p>“And that doesn’t get me the star poem?”</p><p>“No. That’s for later.”</p><p>Sirius mouth forms the tiniest pout. Remus is perceptive.</p><p>“Used to getting your own way, huh?”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“Well. Not right now.”</p><p>“Then tell me about the butterfly.”</p><p>“No. You answer three things,” Remus says, eating a strawberry.</p><p>Sirius considers. “Okay, that’s fair.”</p><p>“How do you feel about Joni Mitchell?”</p><p>“She’s a mad goddess.”</p><p>“Have you read any Garcia-Marquez?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“Is that the third question, or a continuation of the second question?”</p><p>“The third question.”</p><p>“His books take me a long time to read,” Sirius says, taking a sip of the melon aguas frescas. “Not just because they’re jam-packed with information, and imagery. But because I have to read things over and over because sometimes I get lost in it.”</p><p>“Ok.”</p><p>“Ok,” Sirius says. “Now I get a poem.”</p><p>“No,” Remus says, just to be contrary.</p><p>Sirius sighs, and Remus relents. “Ok, fine.”</p><p>Sirius smiles, and it’s as bright as the sun popping out from behind the clouds into Remus’ eyes.</p><p>Remus recites the poem, and Sirius lies back on his elbows to listen.</p><p>“Again.”</p><p>And Remus repeats the poem.</p><p>“I like that,” Sirius says. “I’m not sure I think it’s sad, either. And you think I fly in a dance about manner?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know. You said flittering. Do you?”</p><p>“Oh, well, I guess so. Last night I didn’t eat dinner because I went to meet up with friends for happy hour, and then some friends went to dinner, but I took my friend Marlene home because she didn’t feel good. And after I dropped her off, I got a text from my friend Dorcas, who needed me to lend her an ear. She and Marlene chronically date. They are currently broken up. It usually only lasts six weeks to two months, and then they’re inseparable again. So, after that, I went back to meet up with the friends who had eaten dinner, they were going out drinking, and I hung out for a while, and then went home. And then I got my text.”</p><p>“So yes.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess I had a bit of a butterfly night.”</p><p>“And no dinner. And now, breakfast with a stranger.”</p><p>“Were you ever going to ask my name?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It’s why I started laughing in the diner. This isn’t what anyone expects of a walk of shame.”</p><p>“I don’t like that term.”</p><p>“I don’t really, either. But it’s a handy colloquialism.”</p><p>“I don’t know—I think this is exactly what I would want to come out of an unexpected night. It should follow that I have an unexpected morning.”</p><p>“Is that why you asked me to breakfast? Because it would be unexpected?”</p><p>“No, I asked you to breakfast because you threw your cigarette butt away.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s how I knew you were a good person. That corner had at least three butts on the ground, even though the bin is right there.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“Are you having fun?” Sirius asks, and seems a little unsure.</p><p>“Yeah. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. I don’t think I’m so polite to stay if I wasn’t.”</p><p>“That’s good. I’m glad you’re here.”</p><p>Remus eats some more of the fruit cup, which is almost gone between them.</p><p>“Would you mind if I rubbed this into your cuticles?” Sirius says, opening up the hand salve. “Your poor cuticles bothered me all through breakfast.”</p><p>Remus laughed. He tends to chew at his nails, and gnaw at his hands when he’s thinking. “Yeah, if you want to.”</p><p>“I really do. I hope it doesn’t bother you. I tend to get tactile when I’m comfortable with someone. I’m unbearable when I’m high. Or so I’ve been told.”</p><p>“Good to know. I’m not usually so tactile. I mean, I like hugs and cuddles and kisses. But usually at home.”</p><p>“Repressed?”</p><p>“Maybe a little still. I grew up Catholic.”</p><p>Sirius nods. “My family wasn’t very religious. But we had a lot of other traditions.”</p><p>Sirius’s face tightens for a moment. Or maybe Remus imagines it.</p><p>“I like the smell of this,” Remus says, holding the tin of salve to his nose.</p><p>“I do, too,” Sirius says and smiles. “My ex said it smells like old Mexican ladies. So, I broke up with him.”</p><p>Remus is a tiny bit stunned, and gives Sirius a quizzical look.</p><p>“Oh. Well, it wasn’t just the comment,” Sirius says, almost finished rubbing Remus’s hands. “But that was the final straw.”</p><p>“Because it was mean?”</p><p>“And dismissive. And what’s wrong with old Mexican ladies? They have food, and love you and bless you, and just generally want good things for you.”</p><p>“Sounds like you love an old Mexican lady.”</p><p>“Well. You met Amelia. And I had a Mexican au pair when I was young. She was my favorite.”</p><p>Remus skips over the mention of an au pair. “Is that why you speak Spanish?”</p><p>“I speak all the romance languages,” Sirius says simply.</p><p>“That’s really cool. I speak passable Spanish, and one summer, I tried to teach myself Russian, but the alphabet refuses to lodge itself into my brain.”</p><p>“Because there’s no room, with all the poetry,” Sirius teases.</p><p>“What do you do?” Remus asks.</p><p>Sirius evades the question. “A little of this and that.”</p><p>“Is that your official title?”</p><p>“No.” Sirius never tells anyone what he does because what he does is graffiti, and public works rife with social commentary, and it straddles the lines of legality and illegality.</p><p>Remus lets him keep his secret. “That’s not my official title either.”</p><p>“What do you do?”</p><p>“I write,” Remus says, and thinks of his two novels that cost him so much time and energy, and love and effort, and have only sold tens of thousands of copies. But they were critically well-received, and he’s won a couple of awards, even if they haven’t sold tons. He just received an advance for this third novel. And he might never be rich, but he has just enough money for rent without needing a roommate, and that feels fortunate.</p><p>“Tell me about the things you write,” Sirius says. And Remus does. They spend almost two hours talking to each other about Remus’s writing, and his inspirations, and Sirius has questions, and more questions.</p><p>And then they get up to find a restroom. And after that, they take the long way back to Sirius’s bike, and while they walk, Sirius talks about his younger brother, and how they’re becoming real friends, which is a nice change. And when they get to the bike, Sirius asks if Remus would like to see his favorite painting.</p><p>Remus says he would.</p><p>They go to the city’s museum of art, and walk into the Orion and Walberga Black Wing and Remus notices the security guard smile at Sirius, and Sirius waves. And he and Sirius spend 90 minutes looking at a Mark Rothko. Sirius tells Remus to just stand in front of the painting, and feel.</p><p>And Remus does, and after a few minutes, he is surprised to find a tear running down his face. Sirius triumphantly hands him a handkerchief.</p><p>“It’s clean,” he whispers into Remus’ ear. And Remus dabs Sirius’ vintage lady’s handkerchief, with little flowers printed in green and pink, to his eyes.</p><p>And Sirius leads Remus to a bench, that seems to be put in front of this painting just for them—and, in a way it was, since Sirius is a Black, and his parents have donated a lot of money, and the museum was happy to accommodate Sirius’ request. But Sirius leaves this part out, and puts his head on Remus’ shoulder, and tells him about Rothko’s use of color, and layering, and light, and how his work changed during his career.</p><p>And then, they realize they’re hungry again. So, Remus invites Sirius to a late lunch at his favorite Vietnamese restaurant, which isn’t too far. They walk. And Sirius looks at the menu; Remus knows exactly what he’s going to eat.</p><p>And they order, and they talk about their favorite meals, and the nicest thing they can remember eating, and the strangest thing they can remember eating (and Sirius argues over semantics, because what’s strange to one person isn’t strange to someone else, and Remus tells Sirius that he’s not being negative, and Sirius relents, because it’s not that important, and because he likes Remus.).</p><p>And after lunch, Sirius challenges Remus to find a way they can spend the rest of the afternoon that doesn’t involve spending any money; because capitalism is the worst, and has made it practically impossible. And Remus smiles, and looks at his watch.</p><p>“The library is still open.”</p><p>And Sirius smiles, and they walk back to Sirius’ bike, and drive to the downtown library, and Remus shows Sirius his books. He will never not be proud that he’s been published, and Sirius takes the first book, and sits in a nearby chair. While Sirius reads, Remus finds a book on Rothko.</p><p>When the closing announcements come on. Sirius pops up and goes to check the book out.</p><p>Remus follows him. “Will you tell me what you thought of my book?”</p><p>“Ok, but over bubble tea.”</p><p>And they hop back on the bike, and Sirius takes Remus for a tea. And they sit and Sirius tells Remus he really likes his book, and says that he can see Remus in it. Some of the phrasing, and the things his characters choose to focus on. Sirius says that he can't wait to finish it, and will probably read it over again.</p><p>And Remus smiles, and even though his book won an Emerging Writers Literary Award, Sirius’s praise fills Remus with just a tiny bit more pride.</p><p>When they finish their tea, Remus doesn’t want to look at his watch. But he knows it’s late. The sun is beginning to set. They’ve spent nearly 12 hours together.</p><p>“I guess I should take you home?” Sirius says.</p><p>“Yeah,” Remus admits reluctantly. “I’ve had the best, most unexpected day with you.”</p><p>Sirius just nods, and takes a deep breath. It has been very nice.</p><p>Sirius takes Remus home. He turns his bike off, and Remus gets off, and hands his helmet to Sirius, who has gotten off his bike, and taken off his helmet too.</p><p>Sirius feels like a teenager, wondering if he’ll get to kiss Remus goodbye.</p><p>“And the star poem?” Sirius asks.</p><p>Remus takes a beat and looks into Sirius’ gray eyes, and says:</p><p>“It is possible we will not meet again<br/>
on earth. To think this fills my throat<br/>
with dust. Then there is only the sky<br/>
tying the universe together.”</p><p>“That’s beautiful,” Sirius looks down. “Who wrote that?”</p><p>“Naomi Shihab Nye. It’s called ‘My Grandmother in the Stars.’ There’s more to it,” Remus says. “But I thought maybe we’d have breakfast, and you’d come to your senses, and I wouldn’t see you again. And I felt…”</p><p>Remus stops, and Sirius looks up at him through his lashes, and Remus feels his own pulse.</p><p>“Well. Anyway.”</p><p>“No, finish your sentence,” Sirius says, and looks into Remus’ eyes and adds “Please.”</p><p>“I felt bereft.”</p><p>Sirius presses his hands to his chest, over his heart, and smiles.</p><p>“That’s beautiful, too.”</p><p>“But, I will see you again? Yes?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Good,” Remus smiles. “She has another poem, that I would very much like to read you.”</p><p>“Give me your number?” Sirius says. And this time, it’s a question.</p><p>“Yeah,” and Remus does. Remus turns his phone back on, and he has a lot of missed calls, and texts, but Sirius texts him, and his message pops up. Remus texts him back a little smiley face.</p><p>“Can I just ask,” Sirius begins, but stops and takes a deep breath. “Just be honest with me, ok? And I will be honest with you.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>And they smile at one another, and don’t say goodbye. Remus goes inside, and Sirius walks back to his bike.</p><p>And the stars begin to shine, and there is possibility, and tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56794/of-a-butterfly-in-el-barrio-or-a-stranger-in-paradise">of a butterfly in el bario or a stranger in paradise</a><br/><a href="https://billmoyers.com/story/a-poem-a-day-my-grandmother-in-the-stars-by-naomi-shihab-nye/">My Grandmother In the Stars</a><br/><a href="https://poets.org/poem/how-palestinians-keep-warm">How Palestinians Keep Warm</a>, which is the poem Remus wants to read tomorrow<br/>Please send me prompts. This is more fun than watching TV. I am on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/justtoarguewithyou">Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>